The Very Secret Diary of Namo
by Aramel
Summary: A slightly humourous look on a Vala's life. With apologies to Cassie Claire and her VSDs.


Disclaimer: I wish the Feanorians were mine, but they aren't. Nothing's mine, actually.

* * *

Sometimes, Námo wondered if his job was a good idea. After all, he was the only one in the souls-of-the-dead business. Oh, there was also Vairë, but she was too obsessed with her weaving to pay attention to him at the best of times; and Nienna, ever the soppy little sister-- the problem with Nienna was that she was so... optimistic. You wouldn't think it of someone who was famous for crying, but one just couldn't rely on her to moan about something together with you. It was always, _Oh, that's so terrible, but I'm sure it will turn out all right in the end..._

The Lord of Souls, the Doomsman of the Valar, keeper of Mandos's halls, he of a bundle of other names and titles which he sometimes forgot, stared pensively through his black-curtained window at the black roses outside (which proves that Eru ran out of ideas for favourite colours). _I should keep a diary_, he thought, unaware (even with his Doomsman skills) that about a dozen other people were thinking the same thing. Nevertheless, he kept a diary, until eventually he forgot about it.

Seven thousand years later, though, a number of mischievous souls found it and had a good laugh over it.

Day X. (What is time to me?)

Halls are pretty empty. Vairë wants to know why in Arda I made them so big, and do I have any idea of how many floors she has to sweep every day. I don't. I am not aware that floors need to be swept. I do not foresee dust. It is a part of Ilúvatar's mind that is hidden to me.

Day X.

Tulkas came over today. Bloody Tulkas. I still ache from where he kept slapping me on the back. He seems very happy about dragging Melkor here. All very well for _him_-- he's not going to be the one stuck with the guy for three ages. Vairë tells me that Melkor and I were meant for each other-- as a punishment. I believe her.

Day X.

Gained my first real tenant today. A woman called Míriel. Irmo sent her, with a rather oblique remark. Something about having all the seamstresses in one basket. I think he's a little upset. She and Vairë get along like a house on fire. They are currently being thick as thieves, talking about children. Something along the lines of, "Oh, your husband wants many children? Mine never even thinks about it, the damned man. All he does is build this place and make me clean it."

Remarked that if Vairë was so tired of cleaning up, she should just make Nienna cry all over the place. Am currently sitting here while Vairë throws spools of thread at me and Nienna cries on her shoulder. I do not understand women. It is another part of Ilúvatar's mind that is hidden to me.

Day X.

Míriel's son is such a pest. He was around today (though he is technically not a resident), looking at everything. He tells me that my furniture looks terrible and that he could do better with a pocket knife in half an hour. What's worse, he did. Pretentious little brat. If this is what Aulë has to put up with day and night, I don't envy him. I should ban the boy. I think I'll keep the chair he made, though.

Day X.

Was summoned to Valmar. Apparently Nienna wants to set Melkor free. I opposed, just on general principles (it is never wise to agree with one's sister) but this time I really wanted her to win.

Am writing this in the Ring of Doom. Looks like Manwë will take his time. He always does. I am surprised that Varda can stand him. She does everything (not surprisingly) at the speed of light. He, on the other hand... I would very much like to see a wind that moves with such alacrity.

Ah, he's agreed. Wonderful. Just get Melkor away from me. I don't care where he goes.

Day X.

The brat made stones. They are shiny.

Day X.

Míriel's brat fought with Indis' brat. I sent him (the former) away from the city, and told him to remember just who and what he was (and hopefully stop picking faults with my pronunciation while I spoke to him). I don't think he took well to the suggestion.

Day X.

Have heard that Melkor went to see the brat. Am alarmed. If those two get together, I swear that I shall go mad.

Day X.

The two brats were reconciled. Unfortunately, Melkor turned all the lights off at the big moment. And the brat (shall I call him Brat the First?) compared me to Melkor, damn him. As if I could ever be like that git. Just because we both happen to be Valar, like black, have a fondness for gloomy places and dead people, and... well, I'm nowhere near as humourless as Melkor is!

Finwë moved in. I am trying not to notice him and Míriel getting all lovey-dovey. I hope they don't produce more brats. One's quite enough, I assure you.

Day X.

Brat the First is leaving. Manwë wants me to go talk to him. Why me? If he can't be bothered to move his royal self from the top of the mountain, why should I go? Let the Brat leave if he likes, and good riddance. But then again, refusing Manwë would be like kicking a puppy.

Talked to the Brat, as requested. Told him that he wouldn't get any luck. Was stared into silence by about ten thousand people. What? I'm just _telling_ you. Don't blame me. Blame Manwë or Eru. (Transcriber's note: the previous sentence was charred, as if it had come to mishap. We suspect lightning.) Oh, all right. Blame Manwë, then.

Day X.

People flocking over in droves. Almost out of room. I told Vairë I had been foresighted. She told me to go away and let her get on with her weaving. Miriel's helping her now. I tried to talk to Finwë, but he kept getting distracted, and kept muttering something about three children being three too many.

I would say rather that two wives are two too many, but I think I've learned not to.

Day X.

The Brat's here. Eru help me.

Day X.

Finwë's grand-daughter moved in. Apparently she was sent here by her husband. And Vairë accuses _me_ of being insufferable...

Day X.

There was this girl who popped up out of nowhere and started to sing at the top of her voice. Something about a husband being dead. Apparently the husband is a mortal. It occurs to me that he must be either very brave or a total idiot. Sent the girl off to Manwë just so she would stop wailing at me. It hurts my ears.

Apparently the girl's Melian's. Her father's another one who's either courageous or crazy.

Day X.

Life is terrible.

I now have Brat the First, six of his seven brats (and the seventh might be on the way), all of Brat the Second's get, and most of Brat the Third's. One big family under my roof, more kings than you can shake a staff at, and all of them seemingly intent upon driving me mad.

I am on the verge of commiting suicide, but it wouldn't do me any good. Even if I managed to die, I'd still end up here.

Eru, what did I ever do to deserve this?


End file.
